


warm my heart (take my hand)

by pridesenn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, I have no idea what this actually is, M/M, Pre-Slash, kind of, like really fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 05:01:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4087891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pridesenn/pseuds/pridesenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John didn't think waiting for a serial killer for a whole night could turn into something good. He couldn't have been more wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	warm my heart (take my hand)

**Author's Note:**

> Moved to here from ff.net (i still have like over 10 fics i should move here as well, but i'm lazy). Un-beta'd, all possible mistakes are mine. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

**-.::.-**

"And you're sure this is gonna work?"

"Of course it's going to work, it's my idea."

"That's exactly why I'm scared here."

Sherlock shot John an annoyed glare over his shoulder, before returning his stare to the currently empty street in front of him. John rolled his eyes and leaned against the cold wall, fully prepared to spend the night there without anything actually happening. Sherlock had been convinced that the serial killer they'd been hunting down for the past week was 'likely going to walk past this specific alley at some point tonight', and since there was no way John was staying home and letting Sherlock go alone he'd come along too. John wondered absently since when had this become his life - chasing serial killers, wandering around crime scenes, keeping a gun with him most of the time because Sherlock couldn't shoot straight for the life of him.

But he knew when - at the moment Sherlock Holmes had waltzed into his life and stayed. When John said 'waltzed', he meant it more like 'crashed', because this was Sherlock. The man alone was the main reason John's problems had escalated from 'oh, I forgot to buy milk' to 'oh, someone broke into our apartment again'. Not that John regretted any of it. Having Sherlock as his best friend surely kept him on his toes all the time, if anything.

"Look, why don't we just call Lestrade and go home? It's getting cold in here", John said after a while of total silence and glanced at the other man standing a few feet away from him. And it really was chilly already - John couldn't properly feel his fingers anymore. Sherlock, though, didn't seem to mind the temperature at all. Sometimes John wasn't sure if he was really a human after all. It took a few silent moments for Sherlock to answer.

"You can go, if you want. It's not like I really  _need_  you for anything here."

John rolled his eyes again, ignoring the insult. He was seriously getting too used to them and everything else that involved Sherlock, it was troubling. "Actually, you kind of do. Unless you've learned how to fire a gun properly  _and_  remembered to bring it with you here?" That seemed to perk Sherlock's interest, his head turning around to look at John again. "What would I need a gun for?" He asked, brows furrowed slightly.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes again, John instead sighed and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose annoyed.  _How can someone so smart be so utterly_ stupid _at the same time?_  he thought before answering. "Because unlike you seem to sometimes think, you can actually be killed by something as ordinary as an armed serial killer you're trying to catch." And since when had things like this become _ordinary_  to John?

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, and then quickly glanced at John's pocket where his gun was. "I suppose you're right," he finally said with a tone that let out just how much he hated admitting it. John smiled to himself, sat on the ground and looked up at the sky. "So I guess we're not going home yet?" "No." And that was it. John probably should've been more annoyed by it than he was.

**-.::.-**

Hours rolled by, Sherlock keeping an eye out on the street and John keeping an eye out on Sherlock. No matter how much he claimed to be a genius, he was still more likely to run straight to the arms of a criminal than wait for a good moment, and John didn't want to attend any funerals in the near future. Or at all, really.

The air got colder as moments passed on, and soon John wished he'd have his warmer jacket with him. His breath turned to mist in the night, and he eyed Sherlock's long (and  _very_  warm-looking) coat longingly. "How much longer will we be here?" Sherlock shrugged without turning, and John sighed. At least if he got sick, he could blame it on Sherlock.

"It's kinda cold, don't you think?"

Sherlock muttered something under his breath (that sounded suspiciously like ' _for god's sake, John_ '), and tore his eyes off the street and to John.

Something flashed in Sherlock's eyes when he saw John shivering on the ground, something that John would've labeled as 'worry' if this wasn't Sherlock they were talking about. But it was gone before John could take a better look, and then Sherlock was kneeling beside him and shrugging off his own coat.

"What are you..." John began, but shut up when Sherlock placed the coat on John's shoulders and sat next to him, leaning against the wall and pointedly looking anywhere but John. "You... um, thank you," John managed to say, staring at Sherlock frowning.

Sherlock nodded once, still not looking at John, and a silence settled around them. Sherlock didn't look like he was about to go back to stalking around the corner in a while, as he slowly relaxed more and even leaned against John's shoulder slightly. John didn't want to think about the fact that his breath hitched in his throat because of the said movement, but he'd be lying if he said it didn't.

And wasn't that just the basket of emotion John really did not want to open anytime soon, preferably never. Because while he could admit in some dark, deep corners of his own mind that yes, maybe he felt something for the other man that ran a bit deeper than friendship, he didn't want to think about it. It made things complicated, and everything with Sherlock was already complicated enough as it was. So he told his brains to shut up and think about something else than Sherlock.

Which proofed to be rather difficult, what with the said person practically glued to his side.

John sighed, ignoring the curious look Sherlock gave him.  _This is going to be a long, long night._

**-.::.-**

_Is it seriously only 3 am_? John thought as he looked at his watch probably for the millionth time in the last hour. Sherlock had insisted that they'd stay where they were for at least 4 in the morning, and John had (unfortunately) agreed.

That meant John was going to have to deal with Sherlock leaning against him, head pressed against John's shoulder, for at least one more hour.  _Bloody wonderful_. John tried to avoid looking at Sherlock, instead counting the tiles on the opposite wall once again. He got to 27 before Sherlock spoke, drawing John's attention to him.

"Are you still cold?"

And something in Sherlock's voice made John look at him, eyebrows raised. Because there was an undertone almost resembling guilt, and as far as John knew, that wasn't an emotion that existed in the brain of Sherlock Holmes. "A bit, I suppose. Why?"

But instead of answering, Sherlock draped his other arm around John's shoulder, and nuzzled his head into the crook of John's neck before taking John's hand in his free one. John froze, trying not to move an inch.  _What is going on_? his brain screamed, trying to come with various explanations to Sherlock's more-than-strange behavior. Finally he managed to form a somewhat clear sentence to ask out loud;

"What are you doing, Sherlock?" His voice was shaking only a bit, but Sherlock probably noticed anyway.

"Warming you up," he replied without lifting his head, voice mumbled.

"Well, yeah, but... why?"

Sherlock's answer was so quiet, that John had to strain his ears to hear what the other man said.

"I dragged you here, it's my responsibility to take care of you."

Neither said anything after that, Sherlock half hugging John in the cold hours of early dawn. John didn't complain when they ended up leaving a bit later than 4 am, still hand in hand. For once in his life, John was kind of grateful for a serial killer who never ended showing up after all.

**-.::.-**


End file.
